


Destiny - Jaskier/Geralt One Shot

by Rini2012



Series: The Bard & The Witcher [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Geralt POV, Geralt needs a hug, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Jaskier being Over The Top, Jaskier/Geralt - Freeform, M/M, Pavetta's Betrothal Banquet, Pining, Rambling Jaskier, confession of love, drama queen Jaskier, let me know if I should continue it, lots of transcribed things, possibly the beginning of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rini2012/pseuds/Rini2012
Summary: Jaskier invites Geralt to the Betrothal of Princess Pavetta as his bodyguard. Though, it seems Destiny has more than one set of hearts to collide tonight.My first ever The Witcher fanfiction. Enjoy :)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Princess Pavetta/Lord Urcheon
Series: The Bard & The Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612579
Comments: 12
Kudos: 360





	Destiny - Jaskier/Geralt One Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my friend and beta reader Bice0226

Geralt had long ago resigned himself to never showing his emotions. If he showed any emotions like happiness to those who believed Witchers had none, they thought he wasn’t a _real_ Witcher and told him to fuck off. It wasn’t just a code for him set by Witchers, it was a way to continue making contracts. So he stopped expressing his emotions, or speaking to humans more than he had to. His horses heard more from him in a month than he spoke to villagers in a year. Thanks to his need to stay stoic, he thought of most outcomes and weighed his options before making serious decisions. After over 100 years, pushing down his emotions in order to plan an attack became useful and life-saving. And it allowed him to more accurately detect others’ emotions, be it observations such as smell.

That is, until a certain bard found him in a tavern. Jaskier wasn’t afraid when he approached Geralt about his song, nor was he afraid when he figured out who Geralt was. In fact, he came along on his monster hunt that was supposed to be dangerous and continued to travel with Geralt for the past 10 years. The only times Jaskier showed fear were when monsters or humans threatened their lives, and no matter how terrible the beasts were, Jaskier stayed by his side knowing that Geralt would protect him. Jaskier trusted Geralt to keep him safe, no matter what they faced or the journeys they made

It was Jaskier’s trust in him that made Geralt start to fall in love with his bard. It was true, Jaskier’s lyrics were terrible, his constant chattering irritating, so was his need to embellish Geralt’s quests. But his love of music and adventure, his boyish smile, his desire to help Geralt gain more favor with the people without payment in return, it made Geralt feel like he wasn’t the monster everyone believed Witchers were. Like he actually had someone who saw _him_ , not what he had been made into.

***

Why Jaskier insisted on bathing Geralt himself, he wasn’t sure. A small part of Geralt was grateful, for his muscles ached after battling the Selkiemore, and Jaskier’s fingers rubbing oils into his skin was soothing. Geralt couldn’t help but notice, when Jaskier wasn’t using the cloth to wipe off Selkiemore guts, the callouses on the bard’s hands. They weren’t from wielding weapons like Geralt’s, or working in fields like a farmer’s, but from playing the lute for years.

At one point, Jaskier stopped scrubbing his back and traced his finger on a spot behind Geralt’s left shoulder blade.

“That’s the scar from the Striga you told me about, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt ‘hmed’ in response as Jaskier started to scrub his arms.

“You never did mention how the princess turned out after being a hideous beast for years. It’s been, what, two years since that mess?”

“Three years.”

“Three years, and I haven’t been able to write a proper ballad because you never give me details. And I doubt the princess will be appearing in court anytime soon.”

“The princess doesn’t need to be reminded of what she was by a song sung in taverns. You have a tendency to exaggerate the details of what really occurred.” Never mind that Foltest made a false statement to appease his people after the curse was lifted.

Jaskier gave an indignant huff and stood in front of Geralt with his hands on his hips. “Since when have I _ever_ exaggerated your adventures?”

Geralt just gave Jaskier a glare. He could name many songs from their early travels that twisted facts for entertainment, all of them he’d had to correct when approached by strangers. It was tiresome to repeat the same facts every other fortnight and gave those who paid him expectations that were unrealistic. Though he could not fault Jaskier’s love of singing, or more specifically, his singing voice. Despite his lyrics being shite, he did have a lovely voice for singing.

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Are you _still_ upset about the song I wrote about Filavandrel and the other elves that took us prisoner? You cannot fault me for it because that was the first adventure I had accompanied you on, but the end of it was disappointing. _And_ that particular piece quickly spread throughout the land, so you got your publicity _very_ quickly.”

“Jaskier.”

“And I seem to recall you were offered five more contracts in the weeks to follow-.”

“Jaskier.”

“Yet you have the _gall_ to-.”

“ _Jaskier!_ ” Geralt almost shouted, and the bard thankfully shut up. “I’m doing this for you as a favor, do not make me regret my decision.”

“Right, right, you’re not a bodyguard,” Jaskier went to a corner to get a bucket. “You’re just a Witcher without an artists’ eye… or ear in this case.”

Jaskier emptied the bucket over Geralt’s head, and he groaned from the feeling of it. Bathing in waterfalls was a small pleasure he took when given the opportunity, but having Jaskier pour water on him like this felt… _intimate._ Thankfully, Jaskier didn’t read his reaction like that.

“Now, now, stop your borish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be?”

“We’re not friends,” _‘You’re more than that to me.’_

“Oh, really? So you usually just let strangers rub camomile onto your lovely bottom?”

 _‘Only you’_ Geralt wanted to say, but instead gave Jaskier a silent look of disgust to hide it.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought,” Jaskier moved to the shelf of different bathing salts and remedies. “Every Lord, Knight, and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises,” Jaskier turned around and threw a pinch of salts into Geralt’s bath water. “Of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”

Geralt didn’t react, he kept his cold stare on Jaskier. “How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say, one stops keeping count after a while,” Jaskier said as he wandered the room. “Wives, concubines, mothers, sometimes.”

Geralt glowered despite himself. It was partially due to how idiotic Jaskier was to bring this upon himself, but also the thought of so many others touching the bard in such an intimate way. Every time Jaskier spoke of a new lover or that Countess he was fond of leaving him again, Geralt shoved down the emotions that wanted desperately to surface. Mainly possessiveness and jealousy, but anger and annoyance he would allow.

“Oh, that face,” Jaskier gushed as he sat down next to the tub. “ _Oh!_ That scary face. No lord in his right mind will come _close_ if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.”

If Geralt was going to survive the night, he needed to drink. Which was what he was about to do before Jaskier took the cup out of his hand.

“On second thought, might want to lay off the Citran ale. Clear head, would be best.”

Jaskier patted Geralt on the shoulder and moved with the cup to behind the tub. “I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved - except you actually do, _all_ of the time.”

Jaskier was correct on that point, but that was another charade Geralt needed to keep going. Witchers were made to kill monsters in return for coin, not fight men’s wars or kill men that committed wrongdoings. Geralt had been punished for killing the man who wanted to rape the innocent girl he saved decades ago. _‘You are to_ protect _humans, Geralt, no matter how monstrous they seem. ‘A Witcher does not concern himself with the petty squabbles of men.’_ That was why Geralt refused payment for things like protecting Jaskier at this betrothal.

“Ah, so is that what happens when you get old? You get unbearably _crotchety_ and _contamperous_?” The bard asked as he went to lean against a shelf with his arms crossed. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retired?”

“Yeah, when they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself after all this,” Jaskier gestured vaguely. “Monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing.” _‘I want you.’_

A strange expression passed over Jaskier’s face as he looked at his nails. Almost as if he was disappointed with Geralt’s answer.

“Well, who knows, maybe someone out there will want you,” Jaskier said as he knelt down against the tub, his expression open and genuine.

“I need no one,” Geralt lied. “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt felt like he was missing something in this conversation. Jaskier’s expression was kind, vulnerable, almost as if he was trying to convey something without words. The fact that he was pushing to know if Geralt would retire felt… strange. It was not unusual for Jaskier to try and understand Geralt, though usually those conversations went nowhere. This one in particular felt… he didn’t know.

***

“... but truth be known, he was… kicked in the balls by an ox as a child.”

“That’s-,” Jaskier seemed to realize this was his out. “True.”

If Geralt were to let his own truth be known, he made that lie so that Jaskier could lose some of his reputation as a skirt chaser. It was petty, Geralt knew that, but he took some satisfaction from Jaskier’s outrage over ruining his ‘courtly reputation’. If it meant Jaskier wouldn’t spend a night with a lady he met here, Geralt would take it.

Despite the unwanted attention Geralt experienced the rest of the night, he enjoyed watching Jaskier perform. The look of joy and excitement on his face as he played almost made Geralt smile. Moments like these, where Jaskier was making everyone around him happy, reminded Geralt why he was in love with the bard. He was a contrast to what Geralt was and saw the world in a way Geralt had lost long ago. Jaskier chose to become a bard, and he was in his element when he played. Geralt was made to be a Witcher, and he was in his element when he fought monsters. To look at a brooding Witcher in a tavern and see inspiration instead of danger, Geralt wouldn’t trade that for any amount of coin the world could offer him.

When Lord Urcheon had burst into the throne room, and his helmet forcefully removed, Geralt knew how the man felt, for he felt it every time he passed through a village. Being ridiculed for something that was out of his control, attacked despite meaning no harm. And Queen Calanthe tried to make Geralt kill him. The fact that the Queen was so heartless against a cursed man was why Geralt took up his sword and fought with Lord Urcheon.

Whilst keeping an eye on the knight, Geralt looked for Jaskier amongst the outburst. After a few more strikes, Geralt spotted Jaskier underneath a table with his lute clutched to his chest. He was actually glad Jaskier wasn’t partaking in this fight, the men here were out for a brawl, and a helpless bard without a weapon was too perfect of a target.

“Stop!!!” Queen Calanthe yelled.

Everyone stopped their fighting, but Geralt was surprised by the next reaction: the Princess rushing into Lord Urcheon’s arms. They embraced like lovers, and the Queen looked disgusted.

“I told you to stay away,” Princess Pavetta said with hands on the knight’s cheeks.

Lord Urcheon laid down his weapon, and explained, “Your Majesty… the Witcher speaks the truth. I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from a certain death. By tradition... I chose the law of surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine.”

“Oh, the _stupid_ bastard,” Queen Calanthe snarled. “Better you had let him die!”

That explained why the Queen was desperate to pay Geralt whatever sum to kill unwanted guests. She knew Lord Urcheon would come, claim the Law of Surprise, and take Princess Pavetta’s hand in marriage. Being the _Lioness of Cintra_ , her reputation of killing those who would defy her or were different to humans was clearly earned.

“You knew he’d come,” Geralt pointed out. “And you pushed me to kill him.”

Geralt simply observed as Destiny, love, and acceptance was discussed among the royals. Unfortunately, this night had told him enough about Queen Calanthe that he knew she wouldn’t accept it. She was stubborn and determined to break the laws put in place by men, despite enjoying them when she could use it. Geralt saw Jaskier come out from under his table and move next to Geralt. The Witcher had no doubt Jaskier was soaking up all of the information for a song.

“There is no _us_ !” Queen Calanthe exclaimed. “I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! Is there not a man amongst you who does not _cower_ before Destiny?” The Queen scanned the room amongst the different men, and her eyes landed on Geralt. “You, Witcher… who has known monsters of every fang and claw… are you afraid too?”

Geralt didn’t believe in Destiny, never gave a second thought to it unless brought up. He’d seen horrors beyond human comprehension, monsters and sicknesses that destroyed entire villages until they were nothing but corpses. If Destiny were real, why did it determine that so many innocents be massacred for no reason?

But maybe, he believed in Fate enough to think that Jaskier was put in his path for a reason. Though no one here could know that.

“No,” He answered. “I’ve seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed Destiny, ignoring the stench of 50 other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny… helps people believe there’s an order to this horseshit. There isn’t.”

The Queen looked satisfied with Geralt’s answer, but he wasn’t done.

“But a promise made must be honored. It’s as true for a commoner, as it is for a queen.”

“I love Duny, mother,” Princess Pavetta said. “I will marry him. I will _finally_ be free.”

Queen Calanthe looked defeated, as if she knew she couldn’t win this fight. Geralt didn’t trust it, even as she handed the sword over to Lord Eist. She was too proud to admit defeat on something as trivial as her daughter’s betrothal. The Queen held out her hand for Lord Urcheon, and he took it in both of his own. The guards took it as a cue to lower their weapons, and Geralt heard Jaskier breathe a sigh of relief behind him. He also felt Jaskier’s hand move to his arm, and it was surprisingly comforting, though he still didn’t believe in the Queen’s kindness. Queen Calathne leaned close to Lord Urcheon and whispered something into his ear, but pulled out a dagger for which she attempted to stab Lord Urcheon in the neck.

In that same moment, Princess Pavetta screamed “no!”, and a large blast of magic pushed everyone but the Princess and her lover back into the walls. Geralt and Jaskier were pushed against a column, pounded by wind that swirled around the room. No one, not even the Queen, seemed to have known that Princess Pavetta possessed such power. Another fucking enchanted princess, why did Geralt’s luck always bring them his way? He didn’t know, but if the Princess wasn’t stopped now, he didn’t know what her magic would do.

Geralt tried to move closer to the center of the room, where Princess Pavetta and Lord Urcheon were floating amidst all of the chaos. He didn’t need to get close, just enough to cast Aard. The wind pounded into his body and he could only shuffle forward a few feet into the whirlwind. For a moment, he forgot about his footing to cast the spell, but then he was pushed back into the column. Geralt was able to just barely miss smashing into Jaskier by redirecting the impact.

“Melitille save us all,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt could see Mousesack against a column on the other side of the throne room attempting to cast a spell. The Witcher got out a small potion from his pocket, drank it, and felt his magic start to amplify instantly. Once again, he moved forward into the whirlwind. Despite the pieces of debris that struck his back, he moved close to the center, and cast his spell.

In an instant, the winds ceased, the throne room darkened, and all was silent as Princess Pavetta and Lord Urcheon fell to the floor.

***

Geralt didn’t give a shit about what Mousesack said. He’d simply said ‘The Law of Surprise’ so he could leave, and yet, as always, life wanted to fuck him over again. Witchers weren’t supposed to have children, not just because of the mutations making them sterile, but also to keep a child from a life of danger. Chaos was chaos, it had no rules, just a few gifted conduits and mutants who could control it to make magic.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called as he ran out of the castle after Geralt (notably throwing the handkerchief he’d been given on the ground and his lute strapped to his back). “I know you said you were leaving alone and everything, but… well, I don’t want you doing anything drastic or - something like that.”

Geralt eyed him suspiciously, but nodded with a grunt and continued to walk to the Inn they were staying at.

“What a day,” The bard cheerfully commented. “You killed a Selkimore from the inside, saved me from a banquet of angry lords, saved a poor, cursed man from death by his vengeful mother-in-law, broke said man’s curse by helping him wed the love of his life, and now you accidentally have a child promised to you. How does this _always_ happen to you, Geralt? It’s exhausting.”

Geralt shrugged but continued in silence. It was rather comforting to hear Jaskier speak after such an event, not like it was the worst they had experienced together, anyway. But they had been through quite a lot together, and it didn’t deter Jaskier from staying with Geralt. Others would have abandoned him years ago, yet Jaskier stayed.

“You know, Geralt, after everything we’ve seen here tonight, I’ve… come to realize some things. About Destiny, friendship, and - well - loving someone who most wouldn’t find agreeable.”

Geralt stopped and looked back at Jaskier, who seemed very timid. Jaskier didn’t smell of fear, he smelled of nerves and something else Geralt couldn’t place. There was also a light dusting of pink on the bard’s cheeks.

Jaskier took a deep breath. “I know that the general rumor among the people is that Witchers don’t have emotions. I for one think it’s bollocks because I’ve seen you express emotions - usually negative, scary emotions, but _emotions_ \- and you care about the people you save from monsters or curses like the Striga princess. You may not feel the same way everyone else does, but you’re still a person. A person whom I’ve grown… rather fond of over these last few years. And as a bard, I usually express this kind of fondness through ballads and songs, and I have since meeting you all those years ago.”

The Witcher had no idea what Jaskier was rambling on about. He was happy that Jaskier saw him as a person, someone he was fond of and inspired by, but that didn’t explain what the point of this conversation was. If Geralt didn’t know any better, he’d say this was a confession of… something, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t know what else to say except,

“Thank you.”

Jaskier looked dumbstruck by that, and then irritated. “‘Thank you?’ Thank- were you struck in the head by a chair when the Princess tried to murder everyone!? I’m trying to convey my feelings here!”

“What-?”

“I have told you _many_ times when a muse has been found, usually the Countess de Stael or a lovely bar maiden. But throughout it all, _you_ have been the subject of some of my best work and I’ve written songs about you despite who comes to my bed. Am I perhaps getting through your big blond skull right now?”

Geralt stared dumbly as he realized what Jaskier was saying. It did explain certain… _behaviors_ Jaskier expressed. Why Jaskier enjoyed leaning on Geralt when they were camping for the night, or why he always wanted Geralt to save him when a monster appeared. Famous men had songs written about them, yes, but Jaskier’s “best work” came from writing about _Geralt_ , not anyone else. Jaskier seemed to take his silence as confusion, though.

“Fine, I’ll declare it officially,” Jaskier cleared his throat dramatically. “Geralt of Rivia, mighty Witcher and defender of the downtrodden, I, your faithful bard Julian Alfred Pankratz, more commonly known as Jaskier, am in love with you. Take that information as you will, I, for one, shall be retiring to my room to write my best song yet.”

And he started down the path to the town, just like that. Geralt, for a moment, couldn’t do more than watch Jaskier’s retreating back. Gods, when the man he secretly loved suddenly revealed he felt the same way, Geralt just stood there like a mute. Love wasn’t something Gerealt usually had returned, the world saw him as a Witcher, nothing more. But Jaskier… _Fuck_ , he had to fix this. Geralt took a breath,and called out,

“Jaskier!” The bard in question turned around, and somehow this was more terrifying than facing a thousand manticores. But if he didn’t confess his feelings now, he’d lose his chance. “I… I…” Geralt paused to collect himself, and his next words took courage, for every time he admitted it, even to himself, horrible things came of it,

“I do love you.”

The words felt like they had been torn out of his throat with a dagger. Somehow confessing his feelings to Jaskier made him feel like a lord of the greatest kingdom in the world, but also like he was facing a death that he’d been able to outrun from the mutations. He knew how the world think of Geralt for loving Jaskier, and it would probably cause trouble further down the road. But for once, he didn’t want to think of what his decision could cause, he wanted to experience it despite the consequences.

Jaskier didn’t seem to believe it. “If you’re just saying that to make me feel better, you have been a Witcher for far too long, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt actually let his expression portray his emotions. Just for Jaskier, he gave a small smile. “I’m not.”

Geralt patiently waited for Jaskier’s response, though he knew this news would be difficult to comprehend. As far as Jaskier knew, Geralt felt little more than annoyance, anger, and satisfaction. The mask Geralt had perfected over the years allowed him to express those emotions, to keep the charade going for all to see. But Jaskier… he deserved to know the truth about everything, and he would eventually.

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, then did something unexpected…

He laughed.

He laughed so hard that he doubled over and held his stomach. Geralt didn’t know how to feel about Jaskier’s reaction, so he just stood where he was and waited for Jaskier to collect himself. While he waited, he tried to understand what made Jaskier laugh about this in the first place. He became a Witcher when he was too young to understand romantic attachment outside of his own feelings.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to wait long as Jaskier soon took some deep breaths, and smiled up at Geralt. It was the brightest and most genuine smile Geralt had ever seen on Jaskier.

“Sorry,” Jaskier apologized. “I just… this explains so much about why you’ve put up with me all these years. I mean I knew why _I_ stayed at your side, but why _you_ didn’t throw me off a cliff or feed me to one of those monsters you’ve killed has always eluded me. Like I was a prized pet or... something.”

Geralt suddenly remembered one of the songs Jaskier had written a few years ago. He couldn't recall all of the lyrics, but he knew it was about a man in love with a woman who never showed her intentions. She’d take him to balls and ride with him in the countryside, even though the man irritated her with her humor.

_‘White hair like milk,_

_Pale eyes of a splendor._

_She is my beloved,_

_But she can’t stand my humor.’_

“You made your confusion into a ballad?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Heartbreak and pain are some of the best sources of inspiration. I’ve actually written… five in the last few years, but hopefully you’ll allow me to adjust them due to this-,” Jaskier gestured between them. “Development.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “ _Development_?”

“Unless you’d like to give it a name and figure out what to do with it. It’s not every day you find out that a Witcher has been in love with you for…”

Jaskier didn’t finish, his gaze having landed on some flowers on the side of the road. A small smile appeared on the bard’s face as he knelt down to to pick a stem of baby’s breath flowers. He walked back to Geralt, closer than usual but not uncomfortably so, and held up the flowers.

“Well, Geralt, take this flower as the declaration of a new era, in which Destiny has brought us together. For the flower reminds me of your glorious hair and your range of emotions.”

Geralt chuckled, and didn’t hide the small smile from his face. He looked down at the flower in Jaskier’s hand, and brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s before taking the flower. He’d have to remember to take the flowers to a sorcerer so it wouldn’t die. Maybe he could also find Jaskier a flower in return. He’d have to do something decent in return soon.

Jaskier took a few steps back and strummed idally on his lute. “I know you’re not really a touchy-feely kind of man, but I _am_ a patient man who’s been pining for years, so I’ll let you take the lead on this… _thing_.”

Geralt nodded. Maybe for once, he could love someone without worrying they’d hex or backstab him. He didn’t know why, but he just knew Jaskier wouldn’t do that.

Destiny, or rather life, had a strange way of doing things.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm debating on whether or not to make this into a one-shot series. Specifically a "The Same Story Told In Different Ways" kind of series. Maybe even making this specific storyline into a one-shot series, but who knows.
> 
> Let me know what you think :)
> 
> UPDATE: I am making this into a series :)


End file.
